Revelation
by CupidsCannonFodder
Summary: After going missing in the last meteor shower, Lana mysteriously reappears on the Kent farm. Unfortunately, she's not exactly the same person that Clark fell in love with.In fact, she's not even human. Clana. Chapter 3 up!
1. Healing

Authors note: This is my first ever fan fiction, or any fiction for that matter, so I would greatly appreciate any and all feedback, whether it be positive or negative. In fact, I encourage you to point out what I've done incorrectly or unsatisfactionally so that I might tweak my writing style in an attempt to improve. This fiction takes place two months after the Season Four finale. If I get enough reviews, I will take that as a sign to continue, so please R+R.

Disclaimer: I do not own Smallville. Um yeah...that about covers it.

_"Clark, I'm not sure what's going to happen to me," she said, her voice a hoarse whisper, "so I want you to have this." He took the parcel, something wrapped in a fancy handkerchief actually, from Lana's outstretched hands and turned it over slowly in his own. He didn't notice that her eyes had never left his, or that her gaze was now filled with meek apprehension, as though she feared his reaction to her gift. As he gently moved the fabric to reveal the object, she watched his eyes widen and his jaw drop slightly. He continued to stare as his hands when he spoke._

_"Where did you get this?" He sounded as though he were in great pain, his normally confident tone now weak and trembling. The artifact remained in his hands; a silver stone with the Kryptonian symbol for 'Earth' carved deeply into its surface, the same symbol that had been painfully burned into his chest two summers before by his biological father, Jor-El._

_"In China." Only then did he look up at her, their eyes meeting and locking, as they had done hundreds of times before. "Whatever it is, whatever it means, I somehow know it's meant for you." Had it not been for his above average gearing, he would not have heard the last part of her sentence, so softly did she speak. Fearfully, he broke eye contact and examined the stone more closely, only just now noticing the red stain that completely covered the bottom half, starting at the pointed tip._

_"What...Lana, is that blood?" She turned her back toward him, walking across the room in a daze. He failed to notice the emotional anguish written across her beautiful features._

_After a moment, she spoke. "Do you remember all the times I wanted an explanation for things, but you said you couldn't give me one? That I just had to trust you?" Her voice broke and he knew without seeing her face that she was fighting back tears. "Well, this time I need you to trust me."_

_That was when he knew that she was in real trouble, that the fear she had expressed earlier wasn't just because of the meteor shower heading toward Smallville, and he was filled with a sense of urgency that he didn't fully understand. He needed to make her leave. Soon._

_He went to her with long, graceful strides and grabbed her shoulders, turning her back to face him. "Lana, my parents are leaving in a few minutes. Go with them."_

_"I can't"_

_"You have to." She shook her head sadly, her doe-eyes wide and afraid. Even in a situation such as this, he was unable to ignore the way the light reflected off her raven locks, or the way he could see straight into her soul in a way she didn't allow anyone else. Unspoken affection radiated off him in waves._

_"Clark, I just need you to know that, whatever happens to me, I will never forget you." Her bottom lip quivered as her armor broke and the tears came. He fought the urge to hold her as the weight of her words hit him._

_"You're talking like we're never going to see each other again." The statement hung in the air between them like a sickness, the truth of it stabbing them both in the heart._

_"I love you." She moved into him then, tilting her head upward and meeting his lips in a stingingly sweet kiss that mocked them both. Her lips were ambrosia sweet, and her found that he remembered it well. At that moment, neither understood why they had endured the angst for so long without question, but it didn't really matter. Only the moment did._

_She pulled away suddenly. "I love you too," he said breathlessly. Her tired smile was the only visible sign of her jubilation._

_"Goodbye Clark."_

My eyes snap open suddenly as my mind is finally released from sleep. I can't even remember a morning that I woke up before the dream reached its conclusion, even though my every prayer before I go to sleep is that I won't have to relive our last moments again. _Lana. _Her name is my first coherent thought this morning, as it has been every morning since the day she walked quickly out of my loft and never came back. It has been two months, and I still can't seem to accept the fact that she is gone. Maybe it is because there is a small, naïve part of me that truly believes she is still out there somewhere, waiting for me to rescue her, that she wasn't killed in the meteor shower that fell mere hours after she said her good-byes.

An exasperated sigh escapes my lips as I try to muster the strength to get out of bed. It gets more difficult each day, so instead of rising, I allow myself to lie there and stare at the ceiling, trying desperately not to think of her and violently hating myself when I do. Her body was never found, only the wrecked helicopter in which Lex had sent her to Metropolis. The pilot had been found fifty feet away from the crash site with his skin still smoldering from the explosion caused when a meteor hit the vessel and ignited the fuel tank. His legs had been completely incinerated.

_Just like Lana, _I thought sadly, wincing with a pain that cannot be adequately described to a person that has not lost a loved one. It is as if a piece of your soul is missing, and with every breath, the emptiness consumes another part of you, leaving you a shell. I guess that is what I am now; a shell waiting for my heart to return to me, although I know she never will.

There is a gentle rapping at my door, and after a moment my mother speaks. "Clark, honey. Breakfast is ready." Her voice is tender and concerned. She obviously knows how hard this had been for me, and she has gone to incredible lengths to keep me from drowning in a sea of hopeless depression. It is a task that grows increasingly difficult as the days go by, and I love her dearly for the effort. That is why it hurts what is left of my heart when I answer in a way I know will cause her pain.

"I'm not really hungry, Mom. Thanks though." The silence between us is deafening, and for a moment I think she has left. Relief has only begun to wash over me when I hear the doorknob turn. She pushes the door slowly, peaking around it as if waiting for me to get angry. Of course, I don't. I haven't felt anger, or any emotion other than despair, in far too long, and she knows it.

I move over as she walks toward me and plops herself on my bed. Her eyes are on me, but I choose to ignore them. "Clark," she begins softly, but with determination, "I really wish you would come eat something." Silence. "You're starting to worry me. I know these past couple of months have been hard on you...I mean...you can't stop living your life because of her." She avoids saying Lana's name, as do most people in my presence. It is a considerate gesture that I greatly appreciate, but I still refuse to speak. _Just go, please._

"Clark." She tries again, but I'm not paying attention anymore. A small crack on the wall above my poster of Betty Boop has momentarily caught my attention, and it seems much more important that whatever it is that my mother is saying to me. She continues to speak for a few moments and then falters, following my gaze to the far wall of my bedroom. As she stares at the cartoon woman that stares blankly back at us, I feel compelled to explain.

"She gave it to me for my birthday last year as a joke." Mom's eyes are burning holes through me now. "One night we were talking, and I mentioned that when I was younger, Betty Boop used to make me think of her." My voice is hollow sounding, even to my own ears, but suddenly this story is important to me. I am determined to finish telling it. "She thought it was hysterical. I've never seen her...Lana...I've never seen Lana laugh so hard. So, on my birthday, she hands me the poster and says, 'Just promise you will think of me when you look at it'," The corners of my mouth are turning upward now. "When she saw my face as I unrolled it, she laughed until she cried. Did you know she has never been in my room?"

"No, I didn't know that."

I nod. "It's true. We've been friends forever, but she never stepped foot through that door. She never knew that I actually hung it up so that, when I wake up, it'll be the first thing I see. She never knew. I never showed her." The faint traces of a smile that had been on my face a moment before are gone now, and I can't stop the tears from welling in my eyes. "I wish I had a chance to tell her, Mom."

She looks even more dejected than I feel. "I know." We both fall silent. Memories are flying through my head like sparks, and I try desperately to hold on to every one of them. Like the time she skinned her knee in third grade and passed out when she saw the blood. Or the time we fell asleep together on the couch while we were studying for our history final, and I was afraid to move for fear of disturbing her slumber. She had looked like an angel that night.

"Mom?"

"Yeah?"

I give her my eyes at last. "I think breakfast would really hit the spot right now." Her smile brightens the entire room.


	2. Angel

Authors Note: Thank you for the reviews...correction...review...on my story. I am now compelled to finish it for the simple reason that at least one person is reading it. Chapter Two is up, so read and enjoy.

"Yo Clark, wait up man!" My best friend Pete is struggling to keep up with me, and I hear him gasping for breath some twenty feet behind me. Unfortunately for him, his personal welfare is the furthest thing from my mind as jog toward Chandler's Field like a man possessed. It is all I can do to keep from breaking into a full blown sprint. The Kansas wind dries the perspiration on my face, but I have no room in my head for gratitude. I am completely focused on my task, my destination.

It had happened unexpectedly, and yet I had known it would. It was a long time coming, for the last time I spoke to my birth father, Jor-El, was the day of the meteor shower, not long before I had found Lana in my loft.

I was finishing up breakfast somewhat self-consciously; my mother had been watching me the entire meal and was presently beaming. Although I hadn't said a word, both of my parents looked extremely pleased that I had ventured out of my room, and respectively out of the dark abyss in which I had been trapped for two months. I'm sure they thought of it as some kind of step forward, a prospective end to the grieving process, but I didn't quite believe it, no matter how badly I wanted to. It doesn't seem plausible that I will ever stop grieving, that I will ever stop missing her, but starving myself wasn't going to bring her back, which is why I was using a piece of toast to mop the last bit of ketchup on my plate.

A knock at the door is what tore my parents' proud gaze away from my empty dish, and I was incredibly grateful when my mother rose to answer. I was debating whether or not to grab one more pancake for the road when she returned with Pete trailing slowly behind her. I had known it was him for two reasons, the first being that I heard his station wagon from a mile away. The second was that he had been coming every day for the past month and a half without fail, even though I usually refused to see him.

My father had called him up in Wichita, where he had moved with his mother the summer before, about two weeks after Lana's disappearance. Three days later, he showed up on my doorstep. Is that friendship, or what? Pete has been my best friend since kindergarten, when I pushed him off the swing for pulling Lana's pigtails. I remember him standing slowly and brushing the dirt off his new trousers while calmly explaining the law of female cooties before sticking out his hand in a very adult-like manner. I took it, and we have been inseparable ever since. He once told me that I was like his brother from another mother. I simply replied that I was his brother from another planet.

Pete is the only one of my friends that knows about my origins, and I have to admit, I couldn't have chosen a better person with which to share my secret. Not only has it taken weight off of my shoulders, it has strengthened our friendship to the point that I would give my life for him, and he for me. Not a bad bond to have in place as dangerous as Smallville, if you think about it.

"How ya doing, Clark?" he greeted casually. I stood and shrugged, indicating with my head that we should leave the room before my parents forced another helping down my throat. I didn't blame them, of course, for enjoying the fact that I was partaking in normal behavior, but that didn't mean I was about to stand there and endure the attention for longer than absolutely necessary. Pete grinned and led me out of the house. Air. Thank God for small favors.

"I'm doing okay I guess," I replied as we walked down the stairs of my front porch. Everything around me seems different somehow, less permanent, and I was struck once again with the feeling of mortality, but not my own. I am not sure that I have an ending the way everyone else does, and of late I find myself wondering if death is even possible for me. Perhaps I am immortal, I honestly don't know. The only thing I _am _certain of is that the ones I love _aren't, _and that knowledge somehow takes the security out of my surroundings, replacing it with the simple thought that it will all be gone one day. Only I will remain.

"Good. You just gotta take it one day at a time, right?" I nodded, unconvinced. "So, why don't we take this day up to Metropolis to watch the Sharks?" A cheesy smile followed, and I sighed as if disgusted with his odd sense of humor.

"I would, but I already have plans."

"Yeah, like what?"

"I have to go buy you some new material." I broke out into a smirk of my own as I took a playful punch to the arm. I was just about to accept the invitation, just to get out of Smallville for the day, when it happened. A familiar, high pitched screech pierced the quiet farmland with the quickness of a knife slicing through butter. My hands flew up to protect my ears, but it was no use. The shrill sound penetrated my senses and left me immobile as I dropped to my knees in agony. _No,_ I thought frantically, vaguely aware of Pete's hand on my shoulder, _not again. Just leave me alone._

_Kal-El, my son. _The voice came from everywhere and nowhere all at once. _It is time._

"I don't care what time it is!" I shout, not caring who is around to witness what would be seen as an episode. "I will never listen to you again! Ever! Do you understand?"

_Go to her, my son, or she will die. _

"Who?" Damn curiosity to hell.

_I have done what I can, but only you can save her._

"No, I'm done with this! Who ever she is, let her die!"

_Then your soul will die with her._

I paused, confused. "What are you talking about?"

_You know where she now rests. Go to her, quickly._

"Not until you tell me what the hell is going on! Jor-El, answer me!" The silence was deafening. Even the cows over the hill were silent, as if they too had heard this strange encounter and weren't quite sure what to make of it. "Son of a bitch!" I yelled in frustration, although I knew in my heart he was gone, disappearing as quickly had he had arrived. I got to my feet, pushing Pete away as I stood.

"Clark, what happened?" His voice was unsteady, as if he were on the verge of panic. "Are you alright? Maybe I should go get your mom..."

"No, I'm fine." I spoke absently, not really paying attention to him. My focus was on the sudden urgency that had invaded my every cell. _Chandler's Field. She's there, but who is she? _I tried to shake the thought, but I knew it was futile. As reluctant as I was to obey Jor-El yet again, I knew I could never let anyone die. Not if there was a chance that I might be able to rescue them. A hero's fatal flaw. My Achilles heel. My destiny.

That is why I am now headed toward Chandler's Field with Pete trailing loyally behind me. It is another mile or so, but I don't even know the word fatigue as I rush forward. _Whoever you are, just hold on a little longer. _Behind me, Pete stops, giving me silent permission to continue at full speed. I arrive at the windmill in seconds, climbing to the top without hesitation despite my chronic fear of heights. I'm looking around frantically for something, anything, that will lead me to my destination, and after a moment I see it. A small figure crumpled in a motionless ball of death rests toward the middle of the large pasture and I rush to reach it. I drop to my knees for the second time today and roll the limp form over, giving myself a chance to evaluate the severity of her injuries.

One of her legs are bent at an odd angle, and a quick blast of my X-ray vision confirms that it is broken. Torn jeans reveal deep, bloody wounds and blistering burn marks. Her shirt is in tatters, allowing me a view of more burns covering her stomach and the undersides of her breasts. Her face is matted with dirt and blood, and as I scrutinize a cut running from the top of her swollen right eye to the bottom of her chin, I am struck with familiarity and then incredible disbelief. It is an impossibility, a miracle and a curse. I wipe her face cautiously and wait for the illusion to evaporate as it has on countess other occasions, but it doesn't. It is still there, and I am trembling. Warmth penetrates my gut, but the hair stands up on the back of my neck. My head is swimming and I don't comprehend; I only gape in wonder.

It is the answer to my prayers.

A piece of my soul.

My angel.

_Lana._


	3. Vessel

Authors Note: Thank you for all of the reviews I have recieved thus far. They have been extremely helpful. Allow me to clear up a few details that have been brought to my attention. In this story, Clark did in fact collect the three stones of power, but instead of using the single stone they created, he laid it to rest in the secret chamber of the caves where it now waits. He never went to the snowy area that he went in the last episode of Season Four. In addition, I have decided that the Kent Farm was _not _destoyed in the meteor shower, and that Jason Teague actually died when Lionel shot him and he toppled head first down a cliff. I think it was a little odd how the writers had him survive that little event, so I changed it. I hope that I have cleared up everything that may be confusing you, and if you have any other questions, let me know. Enjoy.

I can't believe it, no matter how much I want to, but the proof that God _does _exist and that he _does _occasionally listen to prayers continues to lay sprawled in front of me like a rag doll, the irregular rise and fall of her chest the only movement as she desperately clings to life. I am frozen where I sit, my mind racing almost as quickly as my pulse. Time seems to stand still and I can practically feel the earth's rotation ceasing, as if this abnormal chain events has suddenly hit the emergency brake somewhere in the cosmos. Every detail of my surroundings is etching itself into my brain the way a brand burns itself into the hide of a cattle; painfully and forever.

In this moment, I know I will never forget the way the completely motionless blades of slightly browning grass look so sinister against Lana's abnormally pale complexion, like rusting daggers laying in the whitest of snow. Like purity and evil resting together in a moment of peaceful chaos. Two opposites repelling in a world where opposites attract. I know I will never forget the utter stillness of the windmill as it watches over us, a solemn guardian in a place where it no longer matters.

Footfalls in the distance have the effect of a slap to the face, and I am instantly brought out of my odd state of meaningless reflection as I swing my head around in search of the source. I can see Pete struggling to keep up his unusually fast pace as he sprints toward us. I turn back to Lana as a sudden gurgle erupts from her throat and once again pushes all other thoughts out of my head with a swiftness that even I cannot fathom. The gurgle is slowly changing, first to a gasp, then to a hacking cough that sends blood flying, splattering her face like an art project gone horribly wrong. Panic takes the place of the numbness that was there a moment ago, and I am reaching for her, lifting her head in an attempt to clear her airway.

Pete is behind me seconds later, breathing heavily as he attempts to speak. "Clark...what...h-happened?" His exhausted wheeze breaks his sentence after each word. "W-who..." He stops as recognition flashes through his eyes and his jaw drops. I know I should let him stare, let him process, but there is no time. She is dying in my arms, I can feel it, as if her life force is something tangible that I can feel slipping through my fingers with each second that passes. That can't happen. _God, don't let it happen. _

I gently wrap my arms around her and stand, holing her protectively against my chest as if to ward of death itself, while Pete remains dumbstruck to the point that a thin ribbon of drool is slowly making its way down his chin as his mouth opens and closes wordlessly. He will be of no help to me now.

"I'll meet you at the hospital." In my voice is an unexpected layer of calm overshadowing my intense feeling of dread, and his incoherent nod is all I need as I speed away furiously. I am pressing my lips to her temple as I run, moving them in a silent plea that is nothing more than fragmented desires. _Don't die Lana, please don't die. I have so much to tell you, to show you. Don't leave me._ Her skin is cold and clammy against mine, but there is no time to dwell on it as the Smallville Medical Center comes into view. In the next instant, I am in the lobby, yelling as the mirage of calm vanishes along with the faint glimmer of light that is my sanity.

"I need help! I need a doctor!" A dozen pairs of eyes fall on me, and I feel their bewildered fascination that causes them to hesitate ever so slightly before running toward me. Everything is suddenly moving far too quickly for me to follow, and someone is carefully removing Lana from my arms and loading her onto a stretcher that seems to have appeared out of nowhere. My heart is pounding in my ears violently, and I find myself wondering if people from Krypton are susceptible to heart attacks. If so, heaven help me.

* * *

It has been three hours since I rushed into the hospital with Lana, limp and bloody in my arms, and unfortunately, not much has changed since then. The only sound in the room is the unsteady beeping of the machine monitoring the elusive beating of her heart, and each time it pauses for longer than it should, every muscle in my body tenses and I prepare to rum from the room screaming, only to relax when her heart starts up again. Her hand is soft and cool in mine as she lays motionless, the usually white sheets of the bed stained red in a circle surrounding her, the blankets covering her a rare shade of pink as the blood seeps through bandages the way water seeps through a leaky dam. The room is clinically cold; nothing hangs on the walls, nothing decorates it to take the attention away from the person lying in the middle of it.

I have always hated hospitals, even though I have never had the opportunity to stay in one, a perk of being from another planet. I have, however, visited this place on more than one occasion, whether it had been for my parents, for Lana, or for Chloe, and not once has the experience been particularly pleasant. Too much death resides here, and whenever I pass through its doors, it clings to me the way Lana's perfume clings to my clothes after I spend the day with her. Humans may think that they fight death in these places, but I know the truth; it is not an entity that you can battle, at least not for them. No, it continues to smother those who get near it with a subtle intensity that is neither noticeable nor abnormal, and I can smell it. It is all around Lana as I guard her, and that thought alone makes me tremble.

The door opens quietly, and my father walks in slowly as if bracing himself for an explosion of impossibility. He is not disappointed as his eyes find their way to her face, confirming that she has indeed come back from the dead. He exhales in relief, and that is when I know that he doubted me. He thought I was insane, which I admit, I was when I called him.

"I told you it was her."

He walks toward me without taking his eyes off her face, and places his hand on my shoulder. "I know you did, son. I just didn't believe it." Silence, then, "How did you find her, Clark?" Suspicion laces his tone now, and it crosses my mind that my story of how I happened to stumble upon her in Chandler's Field is really not that believable. I am, however, reluctant to mention Jor-El's name in the presence of my father, considering the events of these past couple years. They aren't exactly on friendly terms, you see.

"It was just a feeling." The lie comes out with difficulty. "I don't really understand it myself. Heightened intuition I guess." His scowl stops me cold.

"So, this has nothing to do with Jor-El, then?" His eyes seem to be saying, _Don't you dare lie to me, Clark. _It is slightly intimidating, even to me, the man who can lift tractors over his head with one hand.

"Does it even really matter?" The words are barely out of my mouth when he snaps at me.

"Of course it does! Do you think Jor-El would deliver her to you out of the kindness of his heart? That there isn't going to be a price?" His eyes are glazing over and I can tell he is thinking of his own experiences concerning my biological father's 'kindnesses'. It had cost him not only his health, but the promise of my future. "I thought you had more integrity than that, Clark."

_Shut up. _"Dad, I didn't make a deal with him, if that's what you're thinking. He told me where to find her, so I went." I turn away from him and brush Lana's hair away from her eyes. "And that's all." Of course, I had already thought of the fact that there is going to be a catch; everything Jor-El does has a catch. I just don't appreciate my dad treating me like I'm still five years old. I continue to play with Lana's hair, if for no other reason than to avoid my fathers disapproving stare. It has an almost magical quality as it slides through my fingers, as silky as ever, and I place is behind her ears out of habit, though she usually does it herself, but I stop suddenly when I notice a peculiar mark on her neck, just below her earlobe. To the untrained eye, it could be just another burn, but I know better, and judging by the look on my dad's face, he does too.

It is far too precise to be a random wound; the lines forming its shape are thin, deep, and charcoal black, as if someone had been drawing on the sensitive skin of her throat.

****

"Clark, is that what I think it is?" My father's voice is grim, and when I nod, he speaks again. "What does it mean?"

"It's the Kryptonian symbol for 'vessel'." My finger is tracing circles around the mark, soothing the red, irritated flesh surrounding it. Murderous rage is flowing through me now, but I don't allow my father to see it. _He hurt her. I'll kill the son-of-a-bitch. _I permit my finger to touch the symbol slowly, uncertainly, expecting it be smooth, like the tattoo she had earlier this year. Instead, I can actually feel the grooves in her skin where Jor-El used his power to engrave his will into her, but that isn't all I feel. As soon as I make contact with it, a surge of energy courses through me and directly into her. I hear the heart monitor beeping rapidly before I fully comprehend the sound, but my focus is on the connection between myself and Lana that I can't seem to break. It is as if my finger has been super glued to her neck, and no matter how viciously I try to pull away, I remain touching her as the energy continues to flow between us, blocking out all other sights or sounds.

I am blind, deaf, and dumb as I feel her begin to convulse against me, her body rising and falling in spastic jerks that vaguely remind me of the jitters. Now I feel the pain, incredible pain, as if my veins are filled with liquid Kryptonite and I am crying out. Darkness clouds my vision as I scream, and I hear someone else screaming as well. Lana's pained screeches are the last thing I hear as my world suddenly goes black.


End file.
